Gangland
by drewben
Summary: Prohibition takes its toll on the New York Crime Syndicates. How will the McMahon Family handle the changing landscape...
1. Chapter 1

**I have too many ideas and not enough time. I'm also shooting for an record for widest scope of writing interests.**

**I promise to continue updating my other stories while doing these too…**

**Here is a list of characters and the names they'll be using:**

Vince McMahon

Shane McMahon

Stephanie McMahon

Hunter Helmsley : HHH

Randy Orton

David Batista: Batista

John Morrison

Mike Morrison: the Miz

Chris Jericho

Christian Copeland: Christian

Adam Copeland: Edge

Andy Martin: Test

Patricia Stratus: Trish Stratus

Jonathan Cena

Matt Hardy

Jeff Hardy

Cain Calloway: Kane

Jeff Jarrett

Kurt Angle

Booker Huffman : Booker T.

Scott Steiner

Gail Kim

Jackie Haas

Charlie Haas

Santino Marella

John Bradshaw Layfield

Shawn Michaels

Paul White: The Big Show

Mick Foley

Shelton Benjamin

Melina Morrison (Melina)

Cody Rhodes

Dustin Rhodes: Goldust

Ted DiBiase

Paul Heyman

Candice Preston: Candice Michelle

Maria Kanellis

Victoria Kanellis: Victoria

Stacy Keibler

Torrie Wilson


	2. SunBaked Introduction

**Chapter 1**

**One of my favorite cinematic genres is Gangster movies. I also love the rich characters from the world of sports entertainment. Characters I don't own, but wish to use nonetheless. I hope you like it…**

The hot summer sun beat down on the group of young men as they waited anxiously outside of Rosa's Floral Shop. The name on the truck said "Platelli's Fine Seafood," but in Manhattan, every delivery held the potential for something other than what appeared to be.

For these four young men from Canada, the heat of the midday in midtown Manhattan grew nearly unbearable. For Christian Copeland, in particular, the humidity beat down like a rain shower. Except that rather than the cool, refreshing downpour of water, only the relentless, grimy, blistering heat of the afternoon sun bathed the four men standing around the green wooden painted truck. Finally, a huge older man came out the front door of the florist, held up two fingers in the air, and motioned towards the men to bring the mysterious barrels around to the back door.

Such was the life in New York during Prohibition. Clandestine deliveries to nameless recipients, paid for in cash and returned favors. For the group of young men who'd crossed the border from Canada to pursue this highly lucrative (and dangerous) line of work, it was just another day in paradise.

It was a wonderful time in the history of this great nation. While the papers and politicians called it "The Great Depression," the four childhood friends from North of the Border saw it as the opportunity of a lifetime. Even that meant different things to each of them. For Christian and Adam Copeland, it was the envelopes full of cash they sent home to their widowed mother in Edmonton. For Andy Martin, it was the path out of his dead-end hometown and away from the destitute lifestyle his family lived. For their unofficial, lighthearted leader, Chris Jericho, it was the chance to spend every night in the bed of the girl he was head over heels in love with, and spending every evening drinking whiskey until he started losing feeling in his legs.

"Girls," thought Christian. "Can't live with them, but your friends will look at you funny if you don't." His brother had recently taken an interest in a young girl named Amy whose parents lived in the Latino section of Brooklyn. He'd heard Andy rave for days about the tall, long-legged blonde who they'd all met while making one of their deliveries to Marella's Dance Hall and Café in Little Italy. And Jericho? Well, he was practically married to the generously-endowed blonde Canadian girl who owned the Stratus Inn just off 34th St. in Midtown. Truth be told, Patricia was the closest thing to a mother that the boys had in the huge city. He couldn't count the number of times she'd invited them all for dinner, cooking them hot delicious foods from their homeland. And he really loved the fact that they all had a warm, clean bed to sleep in (for free) every night that they were in the area.

He himself had an eye out for one of the Preston sisters that they'd met while on Staten Island. Her father was one of their companies' most loyal clients until his mysterious, untimely demise. Her sensual, warm eyes remained at the forefront of his consciousness even weeks after their meeting, and he looked forward to becoming better acquainted with the voluptuous young lady.

His stream of consciousness was interrupted by the familiar voice of his brother. Their delivery complete, the boys piled back into the flat panel truck that had become like a second home to all of them. Done for the week, the boys now had the weekend in the city to soak up the lifestyle before the conference Monday. Their boss required them to be there, and these boys weren't ones to miss appointments.

Paul White walked his beat every day with a sense of pride, and everyone in his neighborhood knew that the freakishly tall cop wouldn't ever let the safety of the citizens on his watch be compromised.

Everyone on his block loved him. Children all smiled and waved when he walked by. Pretty girls giggled and blushed. The old men tipped their hats towards him. It was all a poor kid from Ireland could've dreamed of.

He'd once been in the employ of the McMahon Family. Widely known at a young age for his superior size and strength, he'd become a hot commodity about the time most men his age were beginning to shave. The result was three years of living the city high life and outrunning what parts of the law the McMahon's hadn't yet bought and paid for. At first, he'd loved it. After all, it was ten times the money he'd be making in some factory or shop. After a while, however, he'd begun to notice the looks of horror people gave him as he walked down the street. His inner sense of right and wrong told him that the beatings and attacks he was making a living carrying out for the McMahons were wrong, and over time, his conscience eroded his will to make money. He'd used a contact at the Police Office to land a job as a beat cop, in the process earning a full pardon for the crimes he'd committed, and began walking his beat as a member of the New York City Police Force.

Across the street, Patricia Stratus leaned out of her second-floor bedroom window and waved at Paul. She liked when she saw him walking her street. Made her feel safe. "After all," she thought, "no one's looking out for our safety but him and us." The "us" to which the young blonde woman was referring to were the handful of orphaned or runaway girls she boarded at her hotel. Her family's only legacy, the management of the fairly small, but well-kept, hotel, fell squarely on her shoulders. And so here she was, another day, cleaning vigorously for guests she knew would be here regardless of whether or not her rooms were clean. In this business, after all, location was everything, and her hotel's location near several key city locations made almost certain the place would be full. From her upstairs perch she noticed a familiar green paneled truck turn left onto the street than ran directly in front of her hotel. A huge smile crept slowly across her face, and she ran excitedly down the stairs to rush into the arms of the man she loved more than anything in the world…


	3. The Incorruptible Mr Foley

Chapter 2

Mickey Foley was NOT having the kind of week he'd envisioned he was going to as his first week as Captain of the Alcohol Task Force on the New York City Police Department. His mentor, Lieutenant Funk, had given him the promotion with the stipulation that he immediately begin work assembling a crew to begin the life-encompassing task of slowly shutting down the distribution arm of the illegal alcohol business in New York. A married man with two children, Foley hadn't been the ideal candidate for the job, but no other cop in New York City had stood up to the brutal tactics of Mr. McMahon in the past, even going toe to toe with hired thugs on several different occasions. The only problem with this entire situation was that no one had bothered to ask Captain Foley if he'd wanted this responsibility.

His first interviewee, a young man whose origins came from the part of the country where illegal liquor was made, rather than sold, now sat before him at rapt attention.

"And why would this task force be better with you on it than without it?"

At this question, Dustin Runnels sat up in his seat even further. "Well, sir, I know everything there is to know about the bootlegging industry. My father worked for the McMahons for years and years-."

"Wait. Your dad worked for Vincent McMahon?"

Runnels snickered slightly. "Yessir. But I'm nothing like him."

Foley smiled, acknowledging the inference Runnels had made about his fathers' questionable character, then pushed a stack of papers towards Runnels.

"Well, sir, you have an impeccable service record. Eight years as a prison guard. Three years on the Mayor's personal protection unit. You're exactly the kind of man I want on this force." He reached out to shake Runnels' hand, signifying his satisfaction with his candidacy. "I only have one question," Foley continued. "Are there any other guys over at the prison or on the protection unit you'd like to send over here?"

Runnels laughed. "Sure, sir, I bet there's three or four roughnecks we could fit into this unit if we tried real hard…"

To meet Candice Preston was to be completely mesmerized by her overwhelming beauty. Orphaned at the age of thirteen, she quickly found refuge in the company and employ of Patricia Stratus. Now, just weeks removed from her twentieth birthday, the chestnut-haired young lady had worked her way all the way up to being the top assistant to Stratus. It was Preston's job to supervise the other young women who sought refuge at the Stratus. Herself an early orphan, Patricia didn't mind having them around. She shuddered at the thought of where many of these young women would be if they didn't have a place such as hers to turn to. In exchange for their room and board, many of the girls sought employment at the hotel and the restaurant in the bottom floor. Candice waited tables downstairs, often until after midnight, and spent her days helping clean rooms and thinking about the young man she'd met a few weeks ago when he'd shown up with Chris and the other young men from Canada, seeking shelter and food. Chris she'd known for a while, what with him becoming the unofficial "man of the house" as a result of his deep relationship with Patricia. She'd watched as he spent much of his weekend time fixing things around the hotel that none of the rest of them could. She understood why Patricia had fallen so hard for him. He treated her well, never yelled or raised his hand towards her, and seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. All Candice had to do was watch them look into each other's eyes and she knew instantly that the two were meant to find one another.

And those men were coming again today. Candice could always tell when they were coming by the way Patricia would meticulously comb every inch of her hotel, scouring out any imperfection in the appearance or general upkeep of her elegant hotel. She'd personally do the cooking those days, preparing the roast turkey or fresh haddock, the wild yams and rice that were native to her Canadian homeland. All of the young women in Stratus' care had imprinted her as a sort of surrogate mother, and it was easy for Candice to envision her as an actual mother very soon.

Patricia was expecting the boys around seven. She knew on Fridays their employer paid them for the weeks' worth of deliveries they'd made throughout New York City. She hadn't heard Chris speak much about his employer, but that was just as well. The less she knew about Chris's line of work, the better. But she couldn't wait to hold him, and thank God he was alive another week.

Whoever told you as a child that cheaters never prosper clearly had never been acquainted with John Layfield. The only son of a Texas steel baron, Layfield had been sent to New York as an adolescent by his parents in order to receive the finest quality education. Immediately upon his graduation, he'd begun cutting his teeth under the Tammany Hall political machine in New York. He'd worked his way up the ladder over the last twenty years and now, even in the midst of accusations of corruption and misconduct, he was on the verge of becoming the next Governor of New York. As he stood on his large balcony overlooking Midtown Manhattan, he watched as his team of servants and household attendants scramble for his impending departure for his summit on city matters later that afternoon. There was only one thing he had to take care of first. Something that had been eating at him for a very long time…


End file.
